Bob comes in and stretches at each station, yet I never see him actually pull a weight. He visits a lot, and keeps stretching.
Mary comes along and stands at the magazine rack, earphones at the ready. She picks up Better Homes and starts reading. She eyes the treadmill and goes back to reading.
Ted is wearing workout pants from the 80’s. He lifts to impress but his form is all wrong. He is jerking weight and I think to myself that his elbows are going to snap. His triceps don’t get the benefit of his action. He increases the weight and looks around at the competition.
Alice is fast and furious, she notices no one except the blank space in front of her. Engrossed in the zone. Bones protruding and straining, she is shy and lacking confidence, determined to burn off that one apple she allowed herself today.
There are countless others to watch as well – the two ladies who come in each afternoon determined to row to China; the loud grunter that I can hear above my music. The young guns building strength for sports, the trainers who wear clothing to cover their sins while torturing others, the mom’s who walk by with toddlers wearing ballerina swim suits and water wings, the elder statesman who is determined to hold on to his health, and the runner who works the treadmill hill course while watching the news.
And again, there is me, the determined to be better girl, the one who is giving it her very best, and enjoying the cast of characters in the ensemble play called “Gym”.
How could I ever leave my YMCA for the hard core gym like Gold’s or the “look at me in my workout clothes gym like Bally’s. I need those real folks and the slice of life that fuels me on as much as Justin.
